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Vikings fans can be noisy
without amplified sound
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As the sound began to build until it thunderously attained a level that was almost more
than the senses could bear, I passed a note to the guy sitting next to me:
"Which of the space launches is this?"
This is Cape Canaveral, right? Oh, it isn’t. The Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome, you
say? They play football here? I was waiting for the countdown.
I am jesting, but only in part. I sat through the Vikings-Saints game, and my hearing
should be restored any minute now. The Vikings are too accomplished to do this. It demeans
them. It is bush. It also is unfair. They turn the Metrodome into a cocoon of sound,
which, this being an indoor arena, cascades around the place, building on itself, until it
is truly earsplitting.
NFL commissioner Paul Tagliabue was there when the Minnesota club turned up the sound
and turned away the Saints. I trust he was as offended as I was. He should act. Merely
being the home team should be advantage enough without attempting to literally drown out
the visiting team.
The Saints deserved a more equitable environment. They had struggled honorably to
achieve a playoff victory for the first time in 34 years and get to this point, but every
time they began a series, a huge, thumping sound would begin echoing through the
Metrodome.
The Vikings, in effect, were playing in one place, the Saints in another. You
wouldn’t have wanted to be in the place where the Louisianans were. I am not from
Louisiana, and I wasn’t pleased to be there because of the sheer unfairness of it.
Listen, I think a home crowd should be able to yell its collective head off. The sounds
to which I am referring, however, did not come from people’s throats. They came from
devices electronically amplified.
Hit the mute button, Mr. Commissioner. Give us a tournament in which visiting teams are
given an honest shot, and that didn’t happen for the Saints.
Minnesota, I should note, is not new to making sound an ally.
After the Vikings outscored the Cardinals 41-21 in the 1998 divisional match in the
Metrodome, the Cardinals complained that amplifiers had been directed squarely at their
bench. An odious practice, if true, and I suspect that it was.
This game deserved to have been played to a musical accompaniment for what is the best
little two-man act in the NFL, Randy Moss and Cris Carter. Did I say little? I erred. Make
that best big two-man act. Further, make it the arguably the best two-man receiving tandem
ever in the NFL.
What alliance has been better? One could bring up Jerry Rice and John Taylor of the
49ers, Mark Duper and Mark Clayton of the Dolphins, Brett Perriman and Herman Moore of the
Lions, Charlie Joiner and John Jefferson of the Chargers, Lynn Swann and John Stallworth
of the Steelers or Don Hutson and whomever was opposite him on the Packers.
With what they did against the Saints, the Moss-Carter pairing has to rival any of
those that have preceded it. Only one yard separated them in this game, Moss catching for
121 yards, Carter for 120. But as different as they are, when together, how deadly they
are.
The Saints permitted Moss only two receptions. They were two too many. He carried the
first for a 53-yard touchdown that etched an important early lead for the Vikings. Later,
he took a one-yard pass from Daunte Culpepper and tacked on an additional 67 yards down
the sideline and away from a covey of pursuers.
Said Vikings head coach Dennis Green: "Any time you play Randy singled up, there
is a potential for that. Randy runs a 4.15. If you haven’t seen him do it, it’s
an amazing thing."
Said Saints defensive coordinator Ron Zook: "I would have bet everything but my
wife and two girls that they couldn’t get a touchdown on that play. But when he
caught it, he was gone."
"I missed my block," Carter said. "Any time I miss my block, you’re
not going to see a lot of people make that play. They had the angle on him, and he outran
the angle. Some players have nicknames, and he has one: ‘Super Freak.’
That’s why."
One might suggest that Carter’s nickname should be "Super Ego."
His posturing infuriated Saints head coach Jim Haslett, but Carter was entitled. His
leaping catch in a crowd for a 17-yard touchdown made it 17-3 before halftime and made the
last 30 minutes superfluous.
There was no sadness in the Saints’ departure. Funerals in New Orleans can be
joyous affairs filled with jazz. The New Orleans club should have had such an
accompaniment. Don’t blow any blues for the Saints. They had a hell of a run.
Sadly, at the end of the run, they weren’t afforded what they deserved. A little
quiet.
Jerry Magee has covered pro football for the San Diego Union-Tribune since 1961 and for
PFW since its inception in 1967 |
